


All Things are Ready, if Our Mind Be So

by I_was_here_once



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Aromantic Character, Cultural Differences, Denethor made choices, Excellent!Tracker Aragorn, Excellent!Warrior Boromir, Good Person Boromir, Guide Boromir, Instinctual thoughts, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Relationships, Sentinel Aragorn, So canon Boromir, Stereotype problems, Strong and Large Boromir, Tall Skinny Aragorn, The Ring Messes with everybody, as far as I can make it, book canon, controlled actions, extroverts - Freeform, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 23:36:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22834990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_was_here_once/pseuds/I_was_here_once
Summary: Once, in the days of his impetuous youth, Boromir questioned his father on his choice to train Boromir to hide his gifts. It was a ridiculous question, for Boromir had no wish to be a guide. The men and women he saw, drawn and weary, sought solitude more than the fellowship of others and Boromir always wished for company.  His father looked at Boromir with grey eyes, oddly cold, and replied that Gondor had need for a captain, not a guide and would he place an arbitrary gift above Gondor’s need?
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Boromir (Son of Denethor II), Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Bilbo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield, Boromir (Son of Denethor II) & Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Boromir (Son of Denethor II) & Lothíriel, Boromir (Son of Denethor II) & Théodred
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue: Thoughts of Aragon, Arwen, and Bilbo: The Council of Elrond

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading. A few thoughts, real quickly.  
> 1.) Outside of the first chapter, this will be from Boromir's point of view until the Breaking of the Fellowship.  
> 2.) This follows the events of the books the most, as well as the descriptions. I adore the movies, but they make some different characterizations I don't particularly like.  
> 3.) I will post explanations of Sentinel/Guide lore at the end of the chapters, in case anyone is confused. Every AU is different and has different ways of doing things. However, the basic premise is there is a section of people with special abilities that can be divided into two groups- Sentinels and Guides. Sentinels have extraordinary senses far beyond the average man (or elf). Guides are empaths, who can read and project emotions. However, Sentinels can "zone out" from focusing too much on something, as well as have bad reactions due to their bodies being oversensitive. This can be stopped by changing focus. Guides can be overwhelmed by emotions and must maintain shields to manage emotions of themselves and others. Guides and Sentinels can help shield each other from the side affects of the abilities. However, specific pairings make the side affects a complete nonissue, through bonding. In my verse, bonding works best with one specific person.  
> Please let me know if I need to go into more detail in the comments, or at my tumblr under the username archangelsunited.

The air of Rivendell was good, Aragon thought, as he took a breath. He sat in a chair of wood, each grain pressing through cloth and imprinting on his skin. The taste of ashes, from a pipe smoked in good company, continued to grate on his tongue. The sun, bright in the morning, with no shade to soften the light stung his eyes.

And the smell of washed bodies was tainted by perfumed soaps and strong mint. Arwen had agree to sit by him and provide a focus. Her heartbeat was strong and slow. She was of his _adab_ , or his house, though he shared her with Elrond. He laid a hand on her wrist and felt the thud of her pulse. Each pulse pulled Aragorn into his body a little more, until his senses became manageable once more.

All that was left to manage was the ridiculous need to find and hide Arwen and his friends in a very secure and defendable location. Aragorn was uncomfortable with the number of guests in Rivendell, though Rivendell gloried in its hospitality. Legolas, as always, sat in a way that covered Aragorn’s blind spots. Elladan was positioned above them, in a balcony. Elohir brushed his senses gently as he rode around Rivendell with a group of Elven warriors.

The easiest way to deal with his protective instincts, Aragorn knew, was to either get the guests to leave or make friends with them.

And Aragorn was quite sure that friends were needed.

This did not disappoint Aragorn. He had spent too many years traveling to begrudge himself the company and companionship of others. The sensory issues, as well as the protective instincts, were a happy price paid.

Arwen at his side was humming under her breath. She seemed to be interested in the proceedings, which was good. Arwen did not enjoy being bored and often had something to do at hand. Aragorn focusing on her meant she had to have her hands available, at least in this instance. There were many days, informal sunny days, where she would sit on his lap and he could focus on the weight and feel of her.

Those moments rarely happened without his lips finding hers.

Aragorn tore his thoughts from the subject, remembering he was at a council, as Elrond walked in with Gandalf.

Behind them came a man from Gondor.

Aragorn, oddly, had two instinctual reactions to the man.

For the first, Aragorn wished him far, far away from his _adab_. _Dangerous, Dangerous._

For the second, Aragorn wanted him guarding his back. The man was strong. His hands were large and calloused. His shoulders were broad. His face looked as if he were as used to smiling as frowning. He seemed solidly in the world as it was, an oddity among the fair-folk. _Strong, Strong._

Arwen made a distressed sound next to him. He, without looking from the man, hummed in question.

“He is shielding very strongly.” Arwen murmured under her breath.

Aragorn relaxed minutely. “It is a habit of the men of the south. Even common men and sentinels are taught to shield.” His hand intertwined with her hand, and he stroked his thumb up and down the bones of her hand.

Yet, Aragorn kept his eyes on the man.

* * *

The council did not go well, Arwen thought to herself. She was pleased, if one could be pleased, a decision had been made upon the ring. Aragorn, however, was a mess of emotions.

Arwen was not a guide, but sensing projected emotions was a talent of the firstborn. Arwen almost wondered if she could do it as a human, with how Aragorn broadcasted his feelings.

Not that Arwen could make sense of those feelings.

Not that _Aragorn_ could make sense of those feelings.

The only one, as far as Arwen could tell, to make sense of Aragorn, was Bilbo. When Aragorn pulled forth the blade, Bilbo was quick to back him up. Oddly enough, Bilbo seemed to be projecting a docility that never in her life had Arwen seen. It made her doubt Aragorn’s control for half a second.

The man, Boromir, spoke, but was quickly put down in his thoughts. Both Gandalf and Aragorn were quick to correct. Boromir for his part, did no more than raise an eyebrow in response. Gandalf could not be shamed by silence, but Aragorn was almost quick to back down after his statements.

At one moment, Arwen recalled, Aragorn nearly showed his neck to Boromir. Foul words fell upon Rohan, which was decidedly unfair, seeing as they had no representative. Boromir spoke well in defense of his friends and Aragorn nearly wilted, but stayed true to his thoughts.

It puzzled Arwen, to the point in which she had a moment, she went to find Bilbo Baggins the day after the council.

Aragorn had left to go scout the area with the rangers and her brothers in the morning, but had slept with his back to her door that night. He did not leave until Elrond had assured him she would be safe, though it took longer than usual. Arwen would need to challenge him in the ring in order for his instincts to settle back down. However, that would wait till he returned.

* * *

What a mess, Bilbo thought. An absolute conundrum of a mess. He puttered about his room, searching for his old book. His sentinel abilities were fading as he faded, but they were still a bit stronger than in the years he had the ring. The Red Book, he was giving to Frodo, eventually. But this book, this book was tiny. It was folded pages no bigger than his hand. In it he had written all he remembered of the days of the quest. It was not the adventurous musings of a journey, but rather a silly little book on Bilbo’s instincts throughout the quest.

He had thought, once, to publish it.

Then, his guide died. Who would wish for the thoughts of a failed sentinel? He had done better as a burglar and a storyteller.

It was best to let the memories fade, until only the vague sense of loss was all that could be felt. His friends who knew, which were few, did not mention it to Bilbo’s face until he had left Erebor. Balin, Bilbo had thought, had likely told the Ironfoot and the Lady Dís. Bilbo would receive gifts every few years from them both. One of Thorin’s old toys. A lock of hair, set in stone and made into a necklace. He treasured each of the gifts.

The book, when Bilbo found it, was still in the sack he had carried from Bag-End. It had a dusty blue cover, but was uneaten by time or pest. 

Bilbo took it and found a comfortable chair. He curled up and read of his first impressions of Thorin Oakenshield and his responses, which he had gotten secondary confirmation on from Bofur.

It was as he guessed in the council. Bilbo felt vaguely sick. It was a joyous thing, certainly, to find a partner in life. That fist rush of joy was unimaginably strong. The problem was, is that you had to know what was going on when it happened.

Otherwise, Bilbo thought, you end up snarking at each other for weeks on end. According to Balin, Thorin wasn’t generally as _showy_ with his abilities as he was in those first weeks. Bilbo knew he had been ridiculously gracious. He made sure to provide Thorin with food and would often stay awake if there was no sentinel on watch.

Bilbo hadn’t known what was going on, but, thank Eru, Thorin had some sense left.

It was unfortunate the goblins were the reason Thorin said anything at all.

The question was, Bilbo thought, whether to tell his friend, or let things work out as they may.


	2. Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he is taking his ease, give him no rest  
>  -The Art of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Council of Elrond to the beginning of The Ring goes South  
> Boromir's POV

It had been many years since Boromir had reached such a state of exhaustion as he had arriving in Rivendell. He had walked many miles. He had hunted for food.

He had been alone.

The ever-present pressure upon his shields had relaxed, yet Boromir had woken each morning to renew them, in the wild. Each moment alone, he had devoted to improving and building walls, to hold back-

Nothing.

The dome of silvery steel that surrounds a guide, keeps them in control of their own emotions and safe from the surrounding emotions, was unusually thick. The cast of the shields darkened as Boromir hid himself from the emptiness of the wilderness as he had from the multitudes in Gondor.

His boots were worn down, leather thin and sole worn down. His thighs ached and calves were cramping every other step. He had spent five months on the road, much of it walking. His face was worn from the wind and the sun. He was certain his face had permanently settled into a squint.

Every step was a lesson in hope. Blind hope, perhaps. Yet, Faramir had trusted the dream and Boromir trusted no one as much as he trusted Faramir.

Yet, even upon arriving in Rivendell, Boromir felt no peace. Yes, there was truth to the dream. Yet there was also truth to the rising threat to Gondor. Boromir did not know which need was greater.

Boromir, however, was very aware of his wish to be anywhere but that council of Elves, and Dwarves, and Halflings.

* * *

The problem, Boromir often found, with elves, is their sensitivity. Boromir had spent maybe five hours in Rivendell and was already wanting a stiff drink. He was sure that more sleep would lead to better shields, but that was out of the question. Despite the work Boromir had done building his shields in the wild, he had never faced such constant and _blatant_ emotion.

Boromir was aware that there were guides among the elves, but apparently none of them lived in Rivendell, nor were any of them used to living in the area of guides. In Gondor, even with the guides so rare, people were taught not to project their emotions.

As his wont, Boromir was more concerned with the maintenance of his outgoing shields than blocking whatever emotion was coming in. It was handy, in a way. He was able to read the people in the council room, and they were only aware of the wall around Boromir’s mind.

Though Boromir wished to be anywhere else, he could appreciate that Faramir would have enjoyed watching the pieces of history and peoples coming together. Boromir, however, was tired and had a long journey. He had too long to dwell on his ills. Rohan and Gondor had no warning when Mordor started its attack on Gondor. Theodred would be fighting Saruman with little to no warning. Boromir fingered the Horn of Gondor, which was strapped to his waist. How many times had he called, and Theodred answered?

The ring could be the solution to all of the problems. Yet, when Boromir turned his gaze to the ring, he felt pressure against his shields. A soft sigh of a caress touched Boromir’s shields, causing hairline fractures to make their way like spiderwebs in Boromir’s mind. It was dangerous. Yet, he had to offer the solution that everyone seemed against.

He was reprimanded sternly. While he was grateful for the refusal, he could not help but find himself a bit downcast. There was another man there, but he was quick to reprimand Boromir as well. The man, perhaps meant well, but Boromir had felt the weight of a people on his back for all his years. His brother was holding the ruins of a city from Mordor, bearing the frailty of a people and his father’s cold despair. His cousin was riding throughout Gondor to help give them warning. He had hidden parts of himself, let them wither with disuse, as Denethor had honed him into a captain.

_Think only of the people._

“I was not sent to beg any boon, but to seek only the meaning of a riddle. Yet we are hard pressed, and the Sword of Elendil would be a help beyond our hope – if such a thing could indeed return out of the shadows of the past.”

In his doubt, and perhaps his hope, Boromir looked at the aura of the sentinel who had claimed Gondor.

And _oh._

_Oh._

Boromir felt a weight lift as he stared into the man’s eyes. This was his sentinel. He felt an elation and hope fill him, and he allowed it for a moment. Then he thought of Lothiriel’s eyes, rimmed in red and Faramir’s constant struggles for control.

Boromir let the opportunity and feeling go.

Luckily, one of the halflings stood up and drew attention to himself. Boromir was able to collect himself as he sat down once again.

Aragorn smiled, and Boromir noticed that his emotions lightened with the words of his friend. Boromir nearly hummed in pleasure.

It was a pity that Aragorn then turned to Boromir and compared the suffering of one people to another. Boromir wondered if Aragorn thought before he spoke.

* * *

In the end, after the council, Boromir was led to a fine room in open air, but warm and comfortable despite all of that. He removed his boots and collapsed upon the bed, not bothering to move the quilts which lay on top of the mattress.

For the first several hours, Boromir slept well. He was weary to the bone, and his shields had not had time to repair themselves in the time he was in the council. As long as Boromir did not bond with a sentinel, sleep would put up auxiliary shields, allowing his main shields to rebuild.

Yet, in the second hour of the day, Boromir found himself dreaming. He saw the White City and the river to Osgiliath. There was something of the picture that did not feel quite correct, but the dream moved on to other scenes. There were forests that Boromir had never seen and people he had never met. Suddenly there was an abrupt shift and Boromir felt himself ripped in half.

Boromir woke gasping, clutching his head. He only dozed for the rest of the night. He found he was grateful to sense elves moving about. His shields mostly rebuilt, the spiderweb cracking of the Ring was mended. He was quick to splash his face with water and make his way out to the Hall where food was served the day before.

The Hall, as it was, was not of the carved stone of Gondor’s higher houses. There were no long wooden tables like that of Aldburg and Meduseld. Rather, it had the feel of Dol Amroth’s sitting rooms. The wooden floor was covered in soft, pale rugs. There were low tables surrounded by cushions. There was no table in the center of the room, rather the tables were arranged around the edges of the hall. However, unlike Dol Amroth, there was no fire, nor incense burning. Instead, flowers crept up the stone pillars letting out a soft comforting smell.

This room was created with sentinels in mind.

Boromir would have been more put out with the clear preferential treatment, but the aura of the hall was relaxed and filled with good humor. Boromir was no great guide, in his own opinion. While he had the gift, he did not exercise it outside of creating shields. Boromir was an excellent captain, the White City’s favored son, his emotions were his own. Yet, he could always appreciate a good humor or a peaceful mind. Elrond’s hall was like taking a warm bath, comfort surrounded and eased pain. It was no great effort to relax.

As one does in a warm bath, Boromir found himself floating to the warmest area. At one of the tables sat the elder hobbit from the council. He sat with two of the dwarrow folk, laughing and eating. They were quick to welcome him and even quicker to draw him into conversation. Bilbo Baggins, Boromir found, had a quite cutting and dry sense of humor. The Lord Gloin and his son were friendly and quick to set him at ease.

Served fruit and meat, Boromir was a little disturbed by the way the elves seemed to keep a general distance around him. Even the most friendly, talkative elves gave him a wide berth. Yet, he could feel a startled judgement batter the edges of his shields. Boromir, despite his frustration with the elves projecting, found himself a little disappointed. Boromir generally liked talking to people. He liked telling Faramir the stories he heard, and he liked making people laugh, enjoying their joy.

The hobbit, Bilbo, occupied himself with adjusting his plate and buttering bread before he addressed Boromir.

“I wouldn’t worry about them, lad.” Bilbo took a bite of the bread, then swallowed. “They aren’t used to people not projecting whatever fool thing comes into their head. They will get used to you soon enough.”

The dwarves, who were going at the meat, looked up, keeping steady contact with Boromir’s eyes for a moment before grinning. The elder dwarf looked at Bilbo and grinned.

“Is that what has the elves in such a tizzy?” He chomped on a bit of bacon.

“They are acting ridiculous.” Bilbo shook his head. “I’ve known some of these elves for many years- never have I seen them so inhospitable.”

The younger dwarf, Gimli, chuckled. “It is always the way of things, is it not? Insecurity when the world does not conform to your culture is almost always universal.”

Gimli looked at Boromir again. “Your shields are very good. You did not even drop them at the council, when your face was showing all the emotions your shields were hiding.”

Boromir laughed. “I surely hope not! Yet, it is considered discourteous for the men of the south to project. We must communicate with our faces and our words.”

“Aye,” Gimli took a drink of his wine. “It is the same for the Men of Dale. Even among the Longbeards, projection is only considered allowed among family, though we are more likely to speak with our hands than our faces. A large beard would be a bit of a problem with such subtle communication.”

Bilbo chuckled. “Except, of course, for Sentinels.”

Gloin barked out a laugh, before recounting the many miscommunications between Bilbo and the Company on the way to reclaim the Lonely Mountain.

Boromir found Rivendell much more welcoming after that.

* * *

Boromir left to find a quiet place to rest. Meditation was better when he did not have to deal with the emotions of everyone else. He eventually wandered and found a roof that looked as if it would hold his weight. The room underneath the roof was empty, giving Boromir plenty of peace. Boromir settled and thought on the problems of the council, and decided (while they were most highhanded) he did not find himself at odds with their plans. It took moments to understand and decide upon it, and he was also of the conviction that Gondor would help in anyway necessary.

However, Boromir of Gondor took an entire day to decide finding his sentinel was the absolute worst thing that could happen to him. Granted, this day occurred sometime during his ninth year of life, but his sentiments had not changed by the time he was sitting in Rivendell at thirty-nine. His country could be invaded, his father could grow grimmer and grimmer, and Imrahil could find out he gave Lothiriel her first taste of hard liquor, but these felt like solvable problems. At least, compared to having his shields dependent on a rather arrogant beanpole.

It was on the roof that Aragorn found him, and informed him of the Lord Elrond’s wish to meet with him. He was dressed for travel. Aragorn informed Boromir as they walked down the hall that he was to be one of the scouts sent out from Rivendell. Boromir nearly sighed in relief, but wished him well on his journey.

* * *

Lord Elrond was wise and fair. It was a pity his kindness seemed not to extend beyond such things. Gandalf, whom Boromir had met before, did not surprise with his manner and line of questioning. Both wished to know of the enemies movements and the minutia of the defence of the South.

Boromir could say, however, that Lord Elrond meant to be courteous. He was one of the only elves who made any attempt not to project emotion at him. He spoke with them for many hours, before he was able to once again eat and then fall back into slumber. He was once again plagued by dreams. His shields suffered.

* * *

A week passed in much the same fashion. It was not until Boromir woke on the ninth day of his visit that he felt laziness creep upon him, having woken oddly rested. He asked Bilbo where to find training fields and was told Bilbo knew nothing of them- Rivendell was a place of peace.

Boromir replied that there is a reason such places remain peaceful. He pointed out that Bilbo had seen the ranger and elves leave Rivendell to go scout. On each volunteer’s back there was a bow, and on many a hip there was a scabbard. These weapons required skills that must be practiced.

While Bilbo conceded that Boromir might know more of such a thing, Bilbo was not aware of where one could practice.

However, Bilbo was aware of where Aragorn was, in the Hall of Fire and it was most likely that Aragorn could direct him. Gimli also expressed an interest in training. Gloin waved them off, professing age had cured him of the need to be constantly worn out.

The Hall of Fire found Aragorn sitting with an elven lady. She is what would be considered beautiful by many. Boromir, who did not find much use in beauty of a person, found himself smiling at the lady. She was quick to smile back, projecting warm welcome.

Bilbo had no fear as he walked up to Aragorn and spoke to him. He was still dirty from scouting, dark circles under his eyes, but he did not look particularly grim. He reached a hand out to the elven lady, who took his hand and squeezed before departing.

“Hail.” Aragorn stood and stretched. “Master Baggins tells me you wish to spar?” Boromir found himself checking the man for injury as he did the scouts under his command. He was surprised to find a sense of worry mixed with fondness in his own emotions.

“I would settle for a place to drill.” Gimli crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. “While Rivendell is fair, there is little to do but let yourself waste to nothing.”

Boromir chuckled. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at him. Boromir found himself amused at Aragorn’s mannerisms. Boromir was of the opinion he had been to long alone in battle. No soldier of Gondor would think anything of a joke or laugh. When staring into danger, the best thing one could do was laugh. Lothiriel, Boromir thought, would be very likely to find a way to prank the man, if she were to bolster Aragorn.

“I do believe, Master Dwarf,” Boromir said, ignoring the eyebrow outwardly. “We are fed far too well and often to waste away.” Indeed, Boromir had not been fed so well at his father’s table, though the spices and flavors of the food were different from his home.

Aragorn beamed at Boromir, and Boromir realized Aragorn thought Boromir was mocking Rivendell. Boromir thought of what would happen if someone had put his father’s house in a disfavorable light and regretted his earlier thoughts. He would not care to have Aragorn as his sentinel, but there was no harm in comradery. Everyone wished others to think well of their home.

“There is an area on the east side of the valley, where I was often sent for being a bit too rambunctious. Those who practice with melee weapons often go there to practice. I would be happy to show you.” Aragorn motioned for them to follow him. Boromir was vaguely aware that Bilbo continued to follow behind them from the back.

Boromir looked Aragorn over once again. “We would not wish to inconvenience you, it looks as if you have earned your rest.”

Boromir felt Gimli’s aura turn colors, but Aragorn’s aura stayed consistent and oddly welcoming.

“I slept well this past night.”

It was odd, Boromir thought, that he had also slept well the past night. It was the first in many months without dreams.

* * *

Boromir was not impressed with the highhandeness of the elves. Lord Elrond had summoned him three weeks after the council, after insisting Boromir stay in Rivendell for a spell. Elrond had explained that he wished, along with Gandalf, for Boromir to accompany the Ringbearer, at least as far as Gondor. Aragorn was also traveling to Gondor, and would be glad of the companionship. Boromir, who had found himself spending some time in Aragorn’s company, agreed Aragorn would wish for company. The man was almost as eager for good cheer as Boromir often found himself.

Boromir had avoided the ringbearer for most of his visit. He found that the ring would scratch his shields in a way that, while not terribly damaging, was distracting and annoying. However, that did not have to play into his decision. Boromir’s power was in his courage and the strength of his arm. He could be of great use.

The ring, while annoying, could not damage his sword arm. Boromir was a warrior first, a guide only in secret.

So Boromir agreed to join the Fellowship of the Ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auras are emotional tones  
> Boromir's shields are a little bit like one way glass, most people can't see him, but he can see everybody else. This is fucking annoying to the elves and a highly unusual way to use his gifts. This has some negative feedback for him. He has to look for what most guides see naturally, and he is under a lot of stress trying to keep those shields up. Guides can generally use the emotions around them to help with the shields, even if they do not have a sentinel, but Boromir is not allowing himself that.  
> Bonding- acknowledgment of a bond. A lot of these AU's will use sex as the means of Bonding. I'm not particularly fond of it. There are many different people with many different ways of thinking about sex and affection. For example, in this story, Boromir, to me, is very aromantic and asexual. Creating, or working in, a world where sex is required seems to either exclude a bunch of people, or forces them to have sex when they would prefer not too. That is not an avenue of writing I am comfortable going down at this time. There are also a lot of very strong relationships that occur without sex or physical attraction as an element.   
> So Bonding has three stages:  
> For the Guide- Acknowledgement, Meditation, Blending.  
> For the Sentinel- Acknowledgement, Sensory Focus, and Marking.  
> As this becomes more relevant, I'll add more details.

**Author's Note:**

> Adab- means house in Sinderian, another word for tribe. Sentinels and Guides will gather specific people together and claim them, Arwen as Aragorn's betrothed, is his number one person (and will remain so) in his adab.  
> Aragorn is focusing on Arwen to keep his senses inline with so much going on. She is providing the baseline.  
> Elves don't have the abilities of guides, but they can read auras if a person lets them, by projecting their emotions. Any and everyone has the ability to hide their emotions, however. The people of Gondor consider it rude to project, the elves consider it rude not to project.   
> There are some instinctual behaviors of sentinels and guides that are trained into certain behaviors. For example, everyone gets hungry, but are you trained to make a sandwich or wait till the next meal? Aragorn is dealing with the instincts and doesn't have any idea what to do. Bilbo, a fellow sentinel, recognizes the instinct, while everyone else notices the behavior.


End file.
